~2~
~Chapter Two~
Walking out, walking out in this cold winter light
All the pretty girls, all the pretty ones have tears in their eyes
And I can't because I don't have you here by my side
And I'll always be, I'll always be the girl that was denied
~Bat for Lashes, Honeymooning Alone~
Knock, knock, knock.
Silence.
"Come on, Bonnie! We're going to be late!"
"Go away, Elena!"
I throw my pillow over my head, hoping to drown out both Elena's voice and the near-blinding sunlight filtering in through my window, casting a lace-patterned shadow across my floor and bed.
"That's it—I'm coming in." I hear the door open, her feet stomping across the floor.
I know what to expect before I peek at her from behind my make-shift sun blocker. She will be standing over me, hands on her hips, a worried crease on her forehead, large brown eyes wide with concern.
I lower the pillow. Yup. My best friend is in the exact pose I thought she would be, albeit a bit closer to my face than I was prepared for. She presses her palm against my cheek and holds it there.
"I told you—I'm not sick. I just don't want to go."
"Why not? You live for school. You've had perfect attendance since ninth grade. Don't you want to go to Yale or Harvard or Brown—"
"Yes," well, my mom and dad want me to do that, and I've always wanted to go away for college. Just not so far away and not to study what they think I should, but that isn't really what Elena is getting at. "I'm just… tired, that's all. My chi is—"
"Out of whack," she finishes for me, sighing. "You've been saying that for weeks. And you haven't wanted to leave your room, which is still a huge mess, by the way. I thought you said you were going to clean this up."
Our eyes fly to the duffle bag lying in the middle of the room. "I just haven't gotten around to unpacking yet. I like doing things in the appropriate order."
"Since when is there an order to putting clothes in a hamper?"
"You need to treat some fabrics more gently than others," I parrot back to her. I never thought I'd need to use Caroline's fashion OCD to me advantage, but there's a first time for everything.
"Bon, are you okay? I mean it, you can tell me what's going on. You can tell me anything. I love you, you've always been there for me, let me do the same for you."
"I…" I almost tell her. The confession is on the tip of my tongue, but when I open my mouth I realize that I can't do it. I can't upset Elena. As one of her BFFs, I shouldn't have slept with someone she likes—even though she's dating Damon's brother, even though she claims that she herself loves him like a brother, despite all of the evidence to the contrary.
She sits down beside me and nods her head.
"…I'm… scared." I say lamely.
"Of what?"
"Of…" monsters, heights, spiders, the dark—all lies she wouldn't believe, so I opt for something truthful—though that means I'll be subjecting myself to her worry every time I look stressed. "Of not getting into an Ivy League college… you know, it's basically the only thing my dad wants. It's so much work, what if I can't do it?"
She giggles lightly, like I've just told her a joke. "Don't worry, Bon, if anyone can get into the biophysics program at a top-notch school, it's you."
Yeah, as if being Bonnie Bennett is all it takes to accomplish that.
But I do appreciate her vote of confidence. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now come on, if Caroline gets there first we'll never hear the end of it. We always walk into school together."
She's right; we do. It's a tradition we've upheld ever since we became blood sisters during the summer before sixth grade. Arm and arm and arm. An unbreakable chain. I've always loved the warm feeling our entrance gives me. It just reinforces the strength of our friendship… but going to school means seeing Damon.
An activity that's even lower on my list than usual.
The anxiety coils tightly in my stomach. Damon flirting with Rebekah, Damon making out with Rebekah, flaunting his ability to have nearly every girl in town swooning over him.
It makes me want to throw up.
I stare at Elena, who has taken it upon herself to rifle through my closet in search of a Forbes-approved outfit.
"How about this?" She hold up the hanger with the dress that I bought when we went to the mall. The tags are still on it.
"I do kind of like that one," I admit. "I just need a sweater or something."
"On it."
As I slip the frock over my shoulders, I tell myself that I'll be fine. That seeing him will be a non-issue because our relationship will remain the same: antagonistic. It's nothing new. I can handle it.
I can handle anything.
We stand next to the large brick sign that says Mystic Falls High School, est. 1902. The entryway is swarming with students, just as it had been when we left the campus in June. Every table in the courtyard is taken by seniors, though that's not saying much. The outdoor eating area is small, just like our class sizes. The lawn is freshly mowed, the garden covered in new soil and flowers that are pretty shades of pink and purple.
The building itself is stately, small in stature, but dignified. The first day of the school year is the best. Everything about it is brand-new; from the buffed floor to the fliers stapled on the bulletin board. The bathrooms have yet to be destroyed by graffiti and toilet paper and the handicap stall is clean, the memories of awkward hook-ups during study hall washed away with copious amounts of bleach.
To me, it signifies the opportunity to change things, to correct the bad habits picked up over the break. Every September, I convince myself that I'll tell Dad that I want to attend Whitmore after I graduate—that I want to major in English or Anthropology—and every year, I chicken out.
Rocking the boat never seems worth it. Why would I want to make what little time I spend with my parents tense? Until now, delaying the inevitable seemed like a solid plan, but I'm going to be down to the wire before I know it.
A fact that is made painfully obvious as I check the time on my phone.
6:50.
Ten minutes until the bell rings.
"I've got coffee!" a familiar voice trills.
I look up to see Caroline, who has stopped by the little coffee shop on the corner of Fifth and Liberty before coming to school. She has gotten us each an iced coffee. We take turns buying sugary drinks for one another, at least once a week, and I look forward to it.
But I'm already jittery enough as it is.
My belly flip-flops when she hands me my cup. "Thank, Care."
"No problem," she holds her drink up. "I propose at toast. To the best friends—no, sisters—a girl could ask for. To the best last year of high school, to all the senior parties and dances. We are going to kick ass!"
"Cheers!" Elena and I say in unison.
I sip the coffee slowly, silently begging my digestive system to calm down. I'm able to finish the entire cup, but I'm going to regret it when lunchtime rolls around.
I'm already dreading it, wondering if I'll be able to spend the half hour—alone—in the bathroom by the library when Elena motions for me to catch up.
Funny, I didn't even realize they started to walk away.
The way Caroline studies me as I close the gap between us lets me know that she tried to get my attention before starting toward the building.
We ascend the steps leading into the school. Our arms are interlocked, Care on the right, Elena in the middle, and me on the left. Tyler, the mayor's only son, flashes a grin at Caroline and pulls one of the doors open. Matt, who dated Elena from seventh through ninth grade, holds the other one.
This is what I mean when I call them boy magnets. Matt has always loved Elena and they had a pretty solid connection, but then she fell for Stefan. After his mother passed, she wanted to be the one to make the younger Salvatore brother feel alive again. He had that sexy, brooding thing that she finds irresistible. And Damon… he's the "bad boy" in all the ways his younger brother is not, which sums up why she is attracted to him.
Elena loves to walk on the wild side; she just doesn't want to take up a permanent residence there.
"Matt looks good this year," Caroline whispers to us. "I haven't seen Tyler since our date before we left. I figured he didn't want to make things official with me being gone for so long."
"It looks like he's been waiting for you," I say. "Go for it."
"Yeah. You should ask him out," Elena adds. "Before Matt makes a move on you. I saw the way he looked at you. You don't want to have a bunch of relationship drama this year… we have too much to do."
"Matt was staring at your ass, not mine. He still loves you—not that I blame him. Oh, and I can't forget to mention the fact that it's against girl code."
Elena shrugs, unbothered by the don't date a friend's ex taboo. "It's fine, if either of you want to, Matt was a good boyfriend. We just… we never had a spark, you know? I mean, I'm glad he was my first everything, but we were better off as friends."
"I get it," Caroline relents. "Maybe we should focus on Bonnie for a change. Did you meet any potential boyfriends at the beach?" she nudges my shoulder.
For a second, I freeze. My body tenses as reminders of Damon flood my mind. I shake my head, hoping to erase the memories, wishing my brain worked like an etch-a-sketch.
"That's a hard no," I say once I've recovered.
Caroline doesn't have a chance to ask any more questions. We are all distracted by a beeping noise coming from Elena's shorts.
She fishes her phone out of her back pocket. "It's Stef. He says he'll meet us by the stairs next to Saltzman's room. Damon and Rebekah are with him."
"Remember, Damon sucks, okay?"
We stare at Elena as she tries to hide the disgusted expression on her face. A frown, her nose wrinkled as if she smells something awful. "He should take a page from Stefan's book."
"Damon is a douche canoe," I grumble. "He's not worth the trouble."
"Bonnie's right—forget him and let's go find your boyfriend. Act like he isn't even there."
"You're right," Elena says, tugging at a lock of dark brown hair.
She doesn't sound as if she means it, though I should just be glad she isn't insisting that I give him a second, third, or fourth chance.
By the time we reach the designated stairwell, everyone else is already there.
Stefan's face lights up when he meets Elena's eyes and the next thing I know; they are hugging each other as if they didn't get together the night prior. Rebekah is looking particularly smug this morning, with her designer everything and perfect make-up, hand gripping Damon's so tightly that I'm surprised it hasn't turned blue.
Caroline and I exchange an exasperated glance.
One I hold for much longer than socially acceptable. Anything to avoid talking to Damon. The last time I saw him, I was still semi-drunk, and wearing his t-shirt since I barfed on my dress, and the bathroom floor, and the toilet—both in the bowl and on the seat.
Come to think of it, I should have dropped said t-shirt on the ground when I caught him with Rebekah that day. I should have ground it into the dirt. Then, well, he wouldn't have a reason to bring it up today, and I wouldn't feel like so much of a noob.
And I would have drawn a clear line in the sand.
Instead, it's open season. And if I know anything about Damon Salvatore, it's that he needs to have the last word just as much as I do. The only difference between us is that he will do whatever it takes to be right, to get his way, and there are certain boundaries I refuse to cross.
"What classes do you guys have?" Caroline asks, skipping the pleasantries. We all know where we stand.
"We have chemistry," Elena and Stefan say at the same time. Something I would have found cute if I weren't so on edge.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Damon rolling his.
"I have algebra with Ms. Catz." Care.
"I have a meeting with the dance committee," Rebekah supplies, clearly bored.
I remember getting my schedule from the mailbox a few days ago and I regret not fishing it out of my waste basket yesterday. "Anatomy… I think."
"What a coincidence, I have anatomy, too."
I don't have to look at Damon to know that he's enjoying my discomfort.
The bell rings and I force myself to pry my gaze away from the row of lockers to my left. As soon as I do, I see Damon extending his hand in my direction, eyebrows raised in curiosity, just daring me to take it. And if I don't, in his mind, that would mean our night together meant something to me.
When it meant nothing to him.
I decide to take my chances. "Don't even think about touching me."
He gives me a short nod, arm dropping to his side. Point for Salvatore. A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth.
I hold my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Funny, he is going to say, you didn't mind me touching you when we were at the beach.
And it doesn't happen.
"Whatever Bennett, I'm just trying to be a gentleman."
I scoff.
"But obviously you don't care. Just don't run to me with an apology later on. You might want to take some Midol, though. It sounds like Bloody Mary is about to pay you a visit."
"Right, because my bad mood couldn't possibly have to do with you."
"My thoughts exactly."
Don't engage, don't engage, don't engage.
I repeat my mantra over and over again, turning on my heel to begin my trek to the science lab on the second floor. If I don't get moving soon, all the good lab partners will be taken, and I'll have to buddy up with the Devil incarnate.
However, I should have known that I couldn't outrun the bastard. His footsteps fall in line with mine. No matter how fast I push forward, he doesn't miss a beat. I clutch my books to my chest and pretend that he isn't next to me.
"What's your problem, Judgy?"
"You," I snap before I can stop myself.
"And here a thought we parted on good terms," the sarcasm is palpable.
"You thought wrong. Again."
"You seemed satisfied."
"I—I… It wasn't a good idea." I hate how my voice wavers.
"You liked it," he says tauntingly. "You're embarrassed. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." And then, with a hint of anger, "I've been pretending it never happened anyway. I don't like to remember my low points."
"What the fuck did you say?"
"You heard me. It didn't matter, so stop acting like it did."
I slap him. The sound of my hand connecting his cheek is extremely gratifying. My palm tingles from the impact. I put every ounce of pain he's caused me over the years into that slap. It's for belittling me, dipping my pigtail in a bottle of glue, pushing me on the playground, shaming me for crying after Grams died.
I guess talking to him would have been pointless to begin with. I think I made my feelings pretty clear and I didn't have to say a single word.
However, I feel the need to say something. You know, to drive my point home.
'"You are scum," I whisper through clenched teeth.
Then, I hurry in the opposite direction, leaving him standing angry and alone in the hallway, making a beeline for the bathroom. It's the one place I'll be able to cry without anyone watching.
The walls are closing in on me.
I don't like the feeling, but the only other alternative is going to class, and just giving it half a thought makes my breakfast curdle in my stomach.
So, the bathroom stall it is.
I bring my knees to my chest and bury my head in my arms.
He isn't worth the tears that are spilling down my cheeks, he isn't worth the phone call home I'll get for missing first period either, but I can't get a grip on myself. It doesn't even make sense; I should be glad he isn't harping over the fact that we slept together. It's what I wanted. I mean, it's better like this. I don't need a constant reminder that I lost my virginity to the biggest asshole in Mystic Falls.
As if I need another reason to wallow in self-pity
I have to get ahold of myself. Crying never fixes anything; it only serves to make matters worse. And it makes me feel weak, like I am being crushed under the weight of the entire world. This is especially true when it comes to verbal confrontation.
You can't let the other person know they've struck a chord.
I really haven't been myself lately. I've always prided myself on having control over my every emotion. I never give in and I'm not reckless. Why did Damon have to be the one I stepped out of my comfort zone with? And why am I curled up in a bathroom stall? He should be the one crying over me. I'm not the one who is missing out on anything.
Since when do I burst into tears over something Damon said?
Since when do I burst into tears at all?
I take a deep breath, wipe the last few teardrops away, and stand up.
I'm done with acting like the victim. No one—especially someone who belongs with the rats—has the right to make me feel like shit. How could I have forgotten that?
Standing in front of the mirror, I brush my hair away from my eyes and try to smile. It looks fake, like I've painted it on my face. My eyes are puffy and red—still plagued by some unseen conflict. Everyone will be able to tell that I've been crying, something I don't want to be pointed out. Hopefully, if I act indifferent, nobody will say anything to me.
I look down at my dress and brush myself off.
Caroline will kill me if she thinks I look any less than immaculate.
My legs are shaking a little as I open the door. I look to the left and then the right, hoping that the principal isn't patrolling the hallways. Thank God the coast is clear, I don't think I'd be able to deal with a lecture—I would probably break down again.
The quiet is peaceful, relaxing. I linger by the football display case, examining last year's team photograph, occasionally glancing at my reflection to see if the swelling under my eyes has gone down. Of course, it hasn't, but hey, at least there's something to celebrate—our boys were number one in the division. For the third year in a row.
I contemplate how that will affect the cheerleading team. Would more be expected of us now that our sports program is dominated by winners. Caroline will probably be extra critical of the incoming freshman at try-outs
"Bonnie?"
I whirl around to see Lorenzo St. John staring at me with what I can only assume is concern…which is odd. We aren't really friends—he's polite enough—but our paths rarely cross. He hangs around Damon, so I've always thought that meant he had the propensity to be a jerk as well.
"Yeah?"
"Are you alright?"
"Oh, yeah, of course." I answer quickly… too quickly.
Enzo shakes his head. "Then why does it look like you've been crying?"
"Fluorescent lighting."
"Surely you don't think I'm that gullible."
"I'm fine," I insist, planting my hands on my hips. "I just didn't feel like going to anatomy class."
"Yeah, the human body is pretty depressing. Well, yours isn't, but that's one out of… however many people on the planet."
"7.594 billion." I say.
"It's impressive that you know that off the top of your head." Enzo says with a small grin.
I shrug. "I have a good memory, that's all."
"So… if I ask you to come to the Grille with me after school, will you remember to show up?"
"I, uh… sure, I guess. I really don't want to go to the informational meeting Care's holding in the gym. The irony of a pep-less cheerleader will be lost on everyone."
"What time is the meeting?"
"Three-thirty."
"See you at three, then."
"Um… yeah, I'll uh… be there at three."
"It's a date."